


It's Just a Shot Away

by thedeadparrot



Series: Sympathy For The Devil [5]
Category: The Social Network
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/pseuds/thedeadparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"You checked and double checked it yourself," Mark says. "It's unloaded. The magazine is empty. The safety is on. You really need to stop worrying about this." </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just a Shot Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a gunplay PWP that takes place maybe a day after [Rock and a Hard Place](http://archiveofourown.org/works/234382) in the [mafia AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/9888), because really, that ending really demanded some gunplay porn.

Eduardo's arms are shaking, and he's biting his lip.

"You checked and double checked it yourself," Mark says. "It's unloaded. The magazine is empty. The safety is on. You really need to stop worrying about this." He doesn't say, _I know what a dangerous gun looks like,_ because that's the fastest way to convince Eduardo to back out of this.

Eduardo's fingers aren't anywhere near the trigger. Chris must have taught him proper trigger discipline along with everything else. "I don't know if--" Eduardo says, eyes huge and dark. He's sitting on their bed, knees spread shoulder width apart, still fully dressed. His back is ramrod straight in a way that doesn't look comfortable. His arms are still shaking. "If I--"

"You won't," Mark says. He's on his knees, stripped down to his boxers, and he's got Eduardo's Sig Sauer in his face, and he's not worried, not at all. He leans forward and wraps his lips around the muzzle. It tastes hard, metallic, like the sharp tip of a dart or a set of house keys. Eduardo's eyes get wider. It's a joke around the house these days that Mark will put pretty much anything within reach into his mouth while he's distracted, and Mark is even willing to admit that it's true.

But this is different, obviously.

There's a low twist of fear in Mark's gut, because it is a weapon, even though he trusts his own work and he trusts Eduardo. Mark has spent his whole life fighting off irrational emotional reactions, and on the terror scale, this is nothing.

He leans forward and takes more of it into his mouth, so that his bottom lip is bumping against the trigger guard, against Eduardo's finger. The gun has a short frame, so it's not uncomfortable to have that much in his mouth. It doesn't even hit his throat. He can see Eduardo swallow. Mark runs his tongue along the underside of the weapon, trying to memorize the pattern of the grooves and ridges. The sight bumps against his soft palate. He can feel the tremble in Eduardo's arms along the barrel. The metal tastes way gunpowder smells, hard and acrid. Mark fucking loves that, loves the way it fits in his mouth, loves the spark of adrenaline underneath his skin from the reminder that under other circumstances, he could be dead any second now.

He hollows out his cheek, gives the barrel a good hard suck, the kind that always makes Eduardo moan and curse like a porn star ( _\-- fuck, Mark, your fucking mouth, harder, I need--_ ). It feels good -- not in the same way Eduardo's cock in Mark's mouth feels good, but in a way that still makes Mark hard in his boxers, desperate for more. If he can get his lips around the trigger guard, he'll feel it stretch his mouth open. His teeth will scrape against the slide.

"Fuck, Mark," Eduardo says. "You-- you really like that." He sounds slightly strangled.

The last time someone put Mark on his knees with a gun in his face, he was still green and new to the game and prone to spouting stuff to the wrong people in the wrong place. Mayor Winklevoss had this idea of scaring a little respect into him, and one of the twins -- Tyler, probably -- had pretended that he was pointing a gun at Mark because the mayor didn't like messes. Mark hadn't believed it. No one talks that much shit if they're just going to kill you at the end of it. But there's no denying the fear, that _maybe_ that the the gun represents, even when you know you should be. It had been daylight, an empty parking lot behind a factory in Roxbury, and Mark had looked down the barrel and thought, _He could kill me right now, and I wouldn't regret a single fucking thing._ It hadn't been about sex that time. Tyler just gave a boring lecture on not embarrassing the family, and he pulled the trigger on an empty chamber, and Mark had shrugged afterwards like it was no big deal. It wasn't a big deal. Mark has put crying businessmen and snarling informants in that same exact position before, and he's pulled the trigger with a loaded chamber, and he's seen what it looks like in the aftermath.

"That is--" Eduardo says. His neck is red the same way it gets when he's turned on and embarrassed about being turned on. Mark has only seen in when they've been in public, when Mark has a surreptitious hand down Eduardo's pants and Eduardo is trying to hide it as best he can.

Mark just pulls his head back, running his tongue along the engraved name and serial number that's written on the barrel, before he slides his mouth around the gun again, not bothering to shield his teeth any longer. No point in pretending that the gun ( _Eduardo's gun_ ) is something that it's not. He can hear his own breathing, shallow and rough, through his nose. He gets part of his lip around the trigger guard, but decides it's not worth the effort to go father.

Eduardo keeps staring at Mark with huge, disbelieving eyes, but the arousal seems to have chased away the fear. "Can I?" he says, breathless. His hands are steadier now.

Mark nods around the gun.

Eduardo slides the gun most of the way out of Mark's mouth, until the sight is bumping against the back of Mark's teeth, and then he pushes it back in. Mark lets him, eyes never leaving Eduardo's face. Eduardo does it again, faster and harder this time. Again. Then again, until he's fucking Mark's mouth properly, and Mark lets out a low groan in the back of his throat. He thinks about putting a hand on his cock, but he just wants to focus on this, on the feel of the gun sliding in and out of his mouth, bumping against his cheeks, his tongue, his teeth, as Eduardo's thrusts get more and more erratic.

Mark wants Eduardo to see this, wants to see that this -- all of this -- is part of who he is and what he does. He wants to see that Mark is on his fucking knees and and he's almost naked, and he's got a gun in his mouth, and he's not fucking afraid of any of it, because he's has faced down far worse than this without even flinching. Mark wants this, and he's always wanted this, and maybe Eduardo will finally fucking understand it.

But then Eduardo's pulling the gun on Mark's mouth and placing it on the bed side table. The barrel is still wet with Mark's saliva.

"What?" Mark says.

Eduardo kisses him, rougher than usual, dragging him onto the bed so that he's half on top of Eduardo with Eduardo's fingers curling tight around Mark's hips. "I can't fucking believe you sometimes," he says. "Just watching you take it like that."

"You liked it," Mark says. He straddles one of Eduardo's thighs so that he can brush Eduardo's erection with his knee, so that he can feel Eduardo shift against him. "It got you hard." He continues. "I can do it again, if you want. I can do it for as long as it takes." Eduardo shudders, closes his eyes. Mark nips at Eduardo's jaw. "Were you only imagining my mouth on your cock, or were you really into the idea that I'd let you fuck my mouth with a gun?"

"Both, asshole," Eduardo says, hips jerking up, mouth open. "I liked how much you liked it." His fingers are going to leave bruises in the morning. He really is pretty far gone, just from that, just from watching Mark. That's pretty hot, if Mark does say so himself, almost as hot as how little effort it takes to make Eduardo come. He presses his knee harder against Eduardo's cock and digs his teeth into Eduardo's bottom lip. Eduardo makes a half-choked moan, in the back of his throat, hips jerking up, and he's shivering through his orgasm.

When he opens his eyes again, Eduardo flips them both over, pulling down Mark's boxers and sucking Mark's cock into his mouth in a way that's so practiced and familiar and designed to get Mark off that Mark comes almost as soon as his cock hits the back of Eduardo's throat.

"Fuck," Eduardo says afterwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He's staring at the gun on the table, not angry, not fearful, just thoughtful, like he can look at it and understand all its secrets.

"See?" Mark says. He's sleepy. He wants to turn to the side and fall asleep. "It was fine. No one got hurt. No one died."

Eduardo smiles. There's something unbearably sad about his smile. "Not this time, no," he says.

 

FIN.


End file.
